


Survivor's Syndrome

by Oresteia



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oresteia/pseuds/Oresteia
Summary: verb (used without object), grieved, griev·ing. to feel grief or great sorrow:Kubler-Ross and Kessler came up with five stages of grief. Number six should have been superheroingTM *now trademarked by Rand* while grieving. A study should have been published, what happens to the world when it loses half the population? Another should be how to cope with everyone returning five years later?
Relationships: Danny Rand/Colleen Wing, Frank Castle/Karen Page, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl, Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones/Matt Murdock, Luke Cage/Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock/Karen Page, Misty Knight & Colleen Wing
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. As told by Ward

It was raining, the sound of intense droplets roared through the fragile ceiling. Noisy so much that it was preventing him from sleeping. He thought maybe tomorrow he should suggest to Colleen not so subtly that reinforced ceiling never hurt anyone.

Ward sighed, huffed, and started to look around. Asleep on the mat next to him was Colleen. She was covered in what could only be called muck (which consisted of a horrible combination of mud and blood). Instead of showering as Ward had suggested, she grabbed a decorative pillow from the couch. Then simply fell down intentionally, back first onto the mat, and proceeded to pass out.

Being a responsible adult, Ward fetched some blankets and grabbed a pillow from his room in the dojo. Then decided to sleep next to her just in case she had an emergency or something.

He remembered his high rise condo, 7.1 million dollars at the time of purchase. He mourned its' loss and tried to fall asleep dreaming of his silk sheets. Thirty minutes later, Ward was still listening to the loud drops but had given up on the goal of sleep. He realized belatedly by looking at the clock, which was now five years exactly since the last time he had laid eyes on Danny.

Five years and eight months since they had returned to New York, five years and three weeks since Danny had informed him that he was moving back in with Colleen at the dojo, she called home. Five years later, it was now his home.

All because of some asshole from outer space. It was four years and ten months since he had last set eyes on his condo. Selling it for mere pocket change, half of its value. All because Ward had grown a conscience and a heart since he had followed Danny across the world.

The heart was deciding that Danny would not want Colleen to be alone. Obviously, Ward wasn't there to protect her (as if could even win in a sparring match, never mind an actual fight); if anything, she was there to protect him. The heart also reasoned that Danny would have wanted Rand to help those in need and god, half the world was dire straits. So Ward sold his beautiful idealistic living space and then added insult to his own injury by donating the sale to charity.

Danny probably laughed from the grave (not that he got buried or that Ward believed in heaven anyway). Ward almost cried writing the check, but the biggest injury came from the check Rand donated to the recovery process. Ward imagined himself talking to the Grinch, asking him what it was like to see your heart grow three sizes. Did he, too, wish he had just stomped his heart out instead?

Still, the voice reminded him that's what Danny would have wanted. Rand was his a majority his company (somewhere deep down, Ward privately could admit to himself that he also wanted to help), which would have been Danny's final wish. Unfortunately, if he had the chance to have last wishes, blinking out of existence instantly didn't exactly allow for a moment in the hospital where a will to could be made out.

The conscience was why no longer had a billion dollars and a salary since that too (despite still being acting CEO of Rand) had been donated to charity for five years. It's also why he was lying there on a mat listening to the sound of rain and Colleen's soft snores. Guilt kept him from moving out and back into a lifestyle he was more comfortable with. Guilt kept him from leaving Colleen because Ward could tell she didn't want to be alone despite any front she put out. Hell, he didn't want to be alone either.

So despite never being the best of friends, there they were five years later. Practically married to each other but without emotional and physical intimacy. Sometimes, short sentences and tense conversations were involved. Other times, polite silence or non-triggering conversations. Simple topics. They shared chores and workspaces (she used his office at Rand to run her business). They would eat lunch together every day so Colleen could talk iron fist problems with him. 

They swapped turns making dinner, and Ward was her support on the field. Danny, having taught him the ropes, Ward was better than a rookie but still lacked finesse. Danny was a good instructor, but he was hardly a tech master himself nor a resourceful nurse. Even Colleen got some aid, which provides benefits to both (Ward could sleep knowing he was helping Danny indirectly, and Colleen admittedly liked having someone to do grunt work for her).

Hard to believe, this was Ward's life now. Five years later, this was now his life. Living in a dojo-house with a shitty ceiling. Broke (not really, he was a millionaire now, but his money was all wrapped up in stocks and bonds)— run down from the regular schedule of running a business and superhero-ing. Sometimes, he just fantasied that the world went back to normal.

In his dreams, Danny was alive. Joy was alive— his child was alive (he found in the harshest way possible that Bethany and their child had also been killed, destroyed, fizzed out (whatever they were calling it these days)). He imagined what he might say to all of them. He imagined what it might be like to have silk sheets back. He imagined going to bed, not worrying if the person next to him was going to die from blood loss.

Just to be on the safe side, Ward then sat up and went to check his hole in Colleen's jacket to make sure she had at least stopped bleeding. She had been stabbed in the shoulder with the pointy end of a very expensive and nice looking katana.

Quietly shuffling against the hardwood, he made his way over and bent down, putting pressure on the toes like a ballerina to avoid planting his feet and waking her up (Colleen could wake up super easy, he had learned early in their crime-fighting days). Moving to pull the blanket back, he heard a sigh.

"No, it's fine," she said, brushing his hand away, her eyes opening. Colleen then tossed the blanket down for him.

"Damn."

Colleen shrugged and moved to sit up, gingerly, "I could hear you thinking."

Ward gave her a skeptical look and leaned back on his heels before taking a seat next to her. Sitting cross-legged without bumping into her but still close enough that he could see her wounds clearly with eagle-eyed sharpness.

"It's 4:15—"

Colleen nodded, "Five years."

Ward agreed, "Five years. I still dream of my condo."

Colleen rolled her eyes and threw a piece of lint in his general direction.

"Hey!"

"It's just lint," Colleen stated.

"That's disgusting. Where did it come from?!" he demanded.

She pointed to her sweater that was underneath her bedding.

"How long have you been hoarding that?" he asked, trying to remember when she had fetched her sweater. She definitely didn't change out of her clothes when they got back, and she wasn't wearing that when she was fighting those criminals in the alley.

"While you were sleeping, I got up to get some water," she pointed to the cup in the sink that hadn't been there earlier to his memory. "Then, I decided I needed more padding, my back was not happy sleeping on the hardwood."

Ward glanced over and realized she had only been half on the mat, "Sorry," he said, "I should have moved you earlier."

"It's cool, I could have moved me too. Besides, I'm almost healed now, so maybe we can actually sleep in our actual beds now."

Stupid super healing, Ward at times was still envious. But it got him a real bed; he guessed he should be happy that she was like a real-life wonder woman with a white fist/white katana.

Sighting, Ward moved to stand up now. Colleen already up offered her hand, "It's okay to miss them."

Colleen wasn't really feeling the shower, still keyed up from a long night of fending off would-be robbers (robberies had become the biggest issue in New York these days, people wanting to steal things belonging to people no longer of this world). She felt gross but just kept thinking Danny wasn't here to care anyway if she smelled terrible or looked disgusting.

Ward, she could tell, wanted to say that she needed to change her clothes but out of respect (or their mutual agreement to keep things surface only) kept his mouth shut. It was only when he thought was she asleep that he even planned to try and examine her. Not daring while she could voice dissent.

Still, Colleen knew why Ward had slept on those mats. She wasn't naive. It wasn't because he loved roughing it. He was worried about her. Initially, Colleen thought it was because of Danny. Eventually, she realized that Ward actually cared about her, too, even if he didn't want to admit it. She also discovered the feeling was mutual about a year ago or so.

That time, Ward had been the one bleeding on the furniture of her (their) dojo. He had taken a bullet to the left arm, trying to protect a girl from getting shot by her would-be rapist that Colleen had actively been trying to stop at the time. She had been too slow to reach him before he could get a shot off, and Ward stupidly dashed out in front of her to save the kid. Thankfully, only getting hit on the side.

She realized then that if Ward had died, she couldn't have continued on. It was like figuring out that she had a brother for the first time that she wasn't alone anymore. Ward was her brother, and if he died and left her now, Colleen would be a wreck.

Ward allowed himself to pulled up despite the small groan from Colleen's lip, "I thought you were fine," he accused.

"I am," she protested, "Just a little sore from being prone for ten hours."

"It was six hours," he snarked back.

Colleen gave him a face and turned towards her room. But then Ward gently tugged on her arm, halting her retreat, "I still imagine Danny's face when I tell him I moved in with you."

She laughed with a bit of coarseness to it, "If there's after-life and he knows about it, I can only imagine how amused it made him. You were obsessed with that condo after you guys got back from your world trip."

Ward snorted, "You would be too after being forced to camp outside in winter with pouring rain— in Finland. We were lucky we escaped frostbite. I was sure I was going to kill Danny that night."

She sighed, "What about Joy?" she asked softly.

Ward flinched, "I hope she would forgive me finally." Joy had died having never spoken a Ward to since the whole Davos incident came to a close. But they had sent emails once or twice before she died. They were on their way to entire sentences and considering meet for coffee the day the world changed forever.

He wondered briefly if they ever would have gotten a chance to say all the things they never got to before she died/disappeared/vanished into thin air.

Colleen squeezed his hand before letting go and walking towards her room, "I'm sure she did in the end… night Ward."

Ward watched her retreat and briefly imagined a never-ending hallway. Standing there like a ghost, almost was Danny with a smile on his face. Ward knew then that he had really lost his mind. Especially considering he had smiled back at both the mirage and Colleen's heartfelt words.


	2. As told by Jessica Jones aka the unreliable narrator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica Jones tells her version of the story, only it's not entirely accurate (or even mostly).

Sometimes if she listens really closely, she's sure she can Trish in her head telling her to pull herself together.

Sometimes, Jess wants to say, _"Fuck you, I'm sober"_ to whoever is judging her from the grave, including Trish. Most people assumed that because the world half ended, Jess would spiral further.

Malcolm came to her door every night as he if was waiting for her to shatter into pieces. Instead, Jess got sober. Not because she wanted to, but somehow along the way, she found herself a parent to Vido, Oscar-like Trish ending up a victim of whatever cosmic screw over had occurred.

Vido had given her no choice but to get her shit together. Both his parents were dust (his grandmother deceased naturally), Oscar and her hadn't been a thing in years, and yet there she was since day one trying this whole parenting thing.

The world had some deep-seated sense of humor; the survivors also expected rather stupidly that Jessica Jones would go full-on cape. Clearly, they had missed the speeches she used to give Trish like every day.

The business was terrible, though; people didn't want to hire PI in this new world. It was depressing to think your spouse was cheating on you because so many people were without spouses. Those that had suspicions chose to let them go on cheating.

Every once a while, she got a doubter one that assumed their family member just had to have survived. At first, Jessica was all too willing to take the case. In her heart, she hoped they were right (Nevermind the time, one family was right, and the son had pretended to be a victim so he could run away from home). A year into this madness, she stopped. At some point, it made her feel like scum to prey on people's hopes like that.

Then, the dry spell came and didn't seem to ever bounce back. Five years later, she was getting work as a mercenary for hire. She refused to kill anyone but rough people up for cash? She had done that before; she could do it again. If only to continue to feed Vido and herself.

Trish, she bet still would have judged her. Which was why on the fifth anniversary of her death, Jessica just wants to spit on her grave (if she had one that is) and hug her saying "I forgive you" on repeat (until either A: Jess made it true or B: she discovered she really meant it).

Every once a while, though, despite not becoming a hero— Jess helped out around New York. Specifically assisting Colleen Wing and Matt Murdock. Luke would have wanted her too. Trish would have insisted on it. Shit, Dorothy even seemed to expect it, and she hated the woman.

Sometimes, she imagined Luke's surprise when she told him she was sober now four years roughly. Other times his shock when she said she was a parent now. Vido was always happy when she went out loved to tell the other teens that his pseudo adopted parent was a superhero.

Trish and Luke would die. At least, there would have been constant teasing on Trish's end, and Luke would have given her some inspirational nonsense from his old friend, Pops. Jess wondered if he was with this Pops now or if their permanent vacation was just a giant void? Did cosmic death work like religion, or was it all just pretend?

She had absolutely no idea, she wasn't Murdock, the Catholic idealist. All she knew, they were judging her from their non-existent grave, and that mattered. Spitefully, she wished Dorothy had been a victim too. Unfortunately for her, periodically, Dorothy would show up wasted screaming it was her fault Trish was gone.

One thing that changed though, in death, Trish had been vindicated. The world had pardoned her sins and said she should ever return, no special prison would be waiting. Her memorial flocked by adults who grew up worshiping Patsy as if somehow she had been a reminder of their youthfulness and happier times.

Jess partially was angry that she was getting a free pass even in death, Trish had killed her mother. The other part? Just wanted to see her again. Have the chance to be angry and maybe punch her in the face now that Trish also had superpowers.

In her closet, was now two items of clothes that weren't faded jeans and leather jackets (they were clothes "designed" by Patsy). On her birthday, Jess wore them for a couple of hours (never outside the apartment, though).

Days like today were hard, and if by magic, Malcolm not only knew that but appeared just as she was coming terms with being stalked by the judging not-ghosts. (Why so much judgment?)

"Why bother knocking?" she snarked as Malcolm opened the door.

Malcolm stepped in two coffees and a sugary frappe in hand for the kid, "You know, in case you were naked with two men."

Jess scoffed, "That only happened one time— like three years ago." She grabbed the coffee aggressively started sucking it down. In the old days, black with a little sugar did the trick. Now, in post-drinking days, it was more sugar than black. She also had developed a habit of chewing on the mixer.

Parenting may have sobered her (not really-- all her fear sobered her), but bad habits? Hard to end, especially when it came to sex and nudity. She had to continually remind herself that no teenager needed to walk in on her half-naked (or entirely).

Also, teenagers judged you for picking up random strange men. (Trish might have cheered, though. Luke absolutely would not).

"Where's Vido?" Malcolm asked, taking a casual sip of his coffee.

"Playing outside," Jess answered in-between gulps, "Need more coffee…" she went towards the kitchen to make a batch.

Malcolm snorted, a sign of a kicked habit if there ever was one, "You were out late last night…"

Jessica sighed, "I was doing a favor for Murdock."

Malcolm nodded, "I know, I saw the news. You had a not so great mugshot of yourself jumping off a roof with Daredevil."

She poured herself another cup into the disposable Starbucks cup. At least, it was a bad image. She didn't need more press than she already had post walking dead (were there zombies, she wondered briefly).

"I needed drugs." She exclaimed, not serious. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Mature Jones, really."

Jess smirked and then dropped her act, "I needed to forget."

He sat down on her wobbly old kitchen chair, holding his own cup for warmth instead of drinking it after burning his tongue. He offered a couple of coins and some wadded dollar bills on the table.

"What's that for?"

"To buy some flowers," he responded.

Jess rolled her eyes but reached towards the bills anyway, "I don't need your charity."

Malcolm let out a slight laugh, "Just don't use it for drugs."

She punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Ow! Super strength, you still have it. And don't forget to get some for Oscar and his ex."

"That beanie makes you look ridiculous," she stated, intentionally changing the subject.

Malcolm sighed as she went towards the kitchen to fix another cup, "Would a thank you kill you?"

——

Somewhere along the lines, they had developed this bad habit. Casual sex. Twice a week after "superheroing," as Vido called it. Neither talked about it.

Matthew Murdock had left in the dead of night again, more poised than Jessica ever could post a good fight (and a romp in the sheets). It was like the man ran on fumes. It was almost envious if not slightly sad.

Jessica Jones was not Karen Page nor Foggy Nelson (she still honestly wasn't sure which Murdock had been sleeping with). Murdock only had his mother, who had left him for decades, his best friend's wife, and Mahoney. Somehow that never stopped him; every day, he went to work, went to church, and then went out to save the world.

It was disgusting how normal he seemed. Still, Jess knew Murdock was a robot form of his old self. He may have gone on lawyering, but he was a ghost living in a world without an anchor.

Sometimes, she wanted to do the right thing and tell Murdock this thing was over— whatever it was. It wasn't healthy for either of them. (He wasn't Luke, she wasn't Karen or Foggy or both). Yet weekly, she succumbed to her darker nature and didn't turn him down when he invited her to stay at his billboard infested hole in the wall.

Often though she was forced to admit the truth she was denied, she was moving past Luke. Forgetting things about him became more manageable every day. She no longer remembered his favorite drink or the color of his prized hoodie. 

Their reconciliation was glorious (considering how they met and her deception). Luke's career as Harlem's hero turned "Club" Boss (his quaint term for creating an anti-mob)— should have hurt their relationship but actually only made it better in her mind.

But when it came down to survival, instead of holding on with both hands the way Wing and Murdock did... she went down a more self-destructive path. By having inappropriate wild sex with men. 

Now recently including Saint Murdock (who really wasn't all that saintly) who had become her accidental rock. She was filling some void for a girl and boy that may never return but him? He was a stop along the road that was Jessica's screwed up life.

So they kept the status quo; once a week, she would pretend to be a vigilante (or at least stop denying she was one). Then they would have sex post patrolling (Buffy the Vampire Slayer style). Then, another day in the same week, Murdock would not subtly invite her via the burner phone.

It was becoming borderline dangerous now that she realized she didn't want to stop. It was made worse by the fact that it had been five years since Luke died, and instead of moping… she was at his apartment door hoping for some sex in her best pair of lacy underwear.

Jessica Jones may have kicked one habit, but she was still was a total disaster. _So much for the flowers_ , she mused.

She could feel judgment from here (and not just from Malcolm).


	3. Angst by Matt, Lead by Jessica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marci may have given up but Matt just found another reason to keep holding on.

_"Foggy, Foggy, Foggy."_

Matt bolted up, sometimes just the sound created this instant trip down memory lane. Matt battered and bruised from the neck down, and Foggy calling to make sure he was whole.

It didn't feel like it had been almost ten years since Foggy found out about his evening activities, but time was inching them closer. Unfortunately, as hopeful as that sound was, it wasn't Foggy on the other end.

Matt popped open his phone, still sore from last night's showdown with a couple of Yakuza that had been trying to traffic kids.

"Marci," he greeted in his friendliest tone, "How are you this morning?"

The sound was a lifeline to his long-gone friends, Marci was just a painful reminder that he was never coming back.

"Oh, I'm great," she stated clearly, the tone in her voice suggesting otherwise; she sounded like she had a few stiff drinks and been outside smoking again. A habit that she had given up in college but obviously had renewed in recent history.

"You know Matt, would it kill you to stop making the six o'clock news cycle?" she asked.

_Was this considered a Mic drop?_ Matt wished he had been shocked by her statement, but he had a feeling she had known for a long time and just never told anyone.

A loss for what to say next, Marci did him a favor by speaking for him, "Foggy probably wouldn't want you to go out every night."

Foggy would have preferred if Matt went out never (maybe), but maybe that wasn't something to tell his widow. Who, as far Matt could tell, never told her before his final moments on Earth. He only brought up once, a week before the wedding.

_ "You can tell her if you want," Matt offered after hearing Foggy hang up the phone, trying to explain why he had missed a cake tasting event. Matt was in the hospital owned by Danny Rand with two broken ribs and blood dripping from his nose. _

_ Foggy obviously had decided trying out cake could wait. _

_ "Matt, Marci only cares that I ditched. Trust me, she wouldn't give a shit if you were Daredevil or not Matt. Telling her would be pointless. She's not going to start joining team daredevil just because I told her the truth. Besides, I'm sure on some level she knows already and is just classy enough to lie about it," Foggy said. _

Matt held the phone in his hand, wondering if he could borrow Jessica's super strength and crush it. Instead, he forced himself to respond to her challenge.

"I can't stop because if I stop, I won't be able to continue," he confessed after a minute, "Foggy and Karen would actually get what they secretly wanted all along if I stopped going out every night."

"Doesn't that tell you something?" Marci challenged again, "This has got to stop, okay? I kept quiet for years because I knew Foggy Bear needed to support you, and my voice would have only swayed him in the other direction."

"Marci—" he started but then stopped, "Marci, I can't just turn it off now when New York is in ruins. Foggy and Karen are gone, and I have nothing but a barely functioning legal firm. This city needs a hero because the Avengers turned their backs and ran away," he spat angrily.

He could hear the glass in her hand; she was lightly dragging her nails on the rim of it, it made this light screeching noise. He could listen to her frustration with every breath and the disapproval evident in her voice.

"But every night?" she demanded, "There has to be a better way. Can't Jessica Jones just fill in for you some nights? What about that girl ninja with the fist? Or that former police officer with the metal arm?"

Matt was sorely tempted to hang up the phone now. The sound of that robotic Foggy was a lifeline but trying to make Marci understand there was no taking a night off anymore was going to be impossible.

"Jessica Jones only helps me because she's afraid to leave me alone," he answered, "She doesn't want or need this vigilante lifestyle (a lie he knew but one Jessica needed him to say). Ms. Wing has enough problems without mine, and Misty Knight has a full-time job on top of trying to keep Harlem safe."

Marci sounded tired and stressed out. Perhaps this argument could wait another day, but then Matt realized it was five years ago today that Foggy, Karen, and half the world went missing. Obviously, she was just getting her grief and anger out in the open. Which is only why he didn't make an excuse and hang up.

"I can't do this anymore, Matt," she said after a minute, downing what sounded like another glass of whatever she had before, "I'm not Foggy. I can't sit there and watch every morning wondering if you're going to get yourself killed. I tried to hold onto you for him, but I can't anymore, Matthew. I am a successful woman about to be a lead partner in an amazing law firm. I should be celebrating my success, not getting wasted on a Thursday. All because I worry that Franklin Nelson is judging me for watching his best friend go out on suicide missions nightly."

And there it was, the resentment. Marci, whether she knew it or not, had moved on from Foggy Nelson. He was an unwanted lifeline tethering to a past she was ready to move beyond.

Personal growth, Marci 1— Matt 0. Matt's grief was like a crutch. Marci's only came out at birthdays and anniversaries. His was more like a constant stream of sadness and despair. He was holding her back, him, and his nightly superhero gig.

"Foggy and I parted once. You can walk away, too," he promised.

Marci let out a frustrated shriek; it was quiet though only his ears could have picked up on it, "I wish I could but obviously the part of me that loved Foggy is not capable of that. I just want a compromise. Then I can will myself not watch the news anymore."

Matt posed the obvious question, "Lawyer who doesn't watch the news, is that even possible?"

Apparently, this call was not going to resolve itself. Both were smart enough to figure that out.

Marci slammed down another glass and then tried to compose herself, "Okay. Clearly, I'm wasting my time, counselor. When you're ready to talk settlement, call me."

"And if I'm never ready?"

"I'll keep coming at you with arguments and evidence until you convince your client, Daredevil, that compromise is in his best interest. Until then, I'll block you from calling Foggy Bear's phone, so you can't moon over Foggy's voicemail."

She hung up the phone.

Emotional Blackmail. Perfect. Landman and Zack taught her well.

——

These days, his life consisted of a reasonably routine habit. 8 am— check voicemails for new clients (usually, there were none). 9 am call Brett Mahoney and see if there was work to do be done. 10 am, sleep until dark. Dark? Go out and hunt bad guys. Then the two nights a week Jess came out? Fight crime with a partner and sometimes make bad life decisions with Jessica.

Really it was not exactly living, but it was how he managed. Then on Sunday, go to church and see Maggie. Jessica joked he went to church daily to pray his sins. She was wrong; no prayers could fix his sins. Clearly, she didn't get the whole devil thing.

Then, there was the subject of Jessica Jones. He remembers once making a joke to Karen that she was more stable than Jessica was but these days? He was the one tethering on a ledge. Jess had improved in recent months.

Apparently, parenting suited her. So had co-dependent sex. 

Matt felt he was a wooden raft lost at sea. Just floating along, hoping to hit land. Someday, he hoped he could move forward as she had but knew his finish line was much further.

He was still haunted by Karen and Foggy. Somedays, he imagined Karen sitting there in his apartment, trying to reason with him about going out every night. Other times, he tried to picture Foggy yelling at him but offering him a doctor when he got injured.

When he was with Jessica, sometimes he pictured someone else. He didn't think she minded because she did too. Once, he remembers Luke being called from her lips. He was classy enough not to point it out.

Occasionally, she tries to play into his fantasy and say,  _ 'Would Karen do this?' or 'Did you just imagine Nelson right there?' _

He knows better than to play to her fantasy of Luke Cage. Besides, he's almost positive she's moved on in recent times. He's worried that they've gotten too serious. That one day, he'll have to tell her that he can never move on as she can. He's weak like that. Not exactly the good catholic.

His mother got past shaming, though. He thinks her own demons keep her silent. Still, periodically he can hear the disapproval on her lips whenever he talks about Jessica.

She's surprisingly okay with his nightly activities (but she lectured him about hospitals not being the enemy). She even drives him to Danny's hospital on occasion, knowing confidentiality is a thing.

They usually don't speak seriously because of ghosts. But one day, he wants to have that conversation with her. They won't live forever, and death being a shell of one's self is hardly worth it.

So instead, they sit here and do what they're doing right now.

"I found an article in the paper..." Matt began handing her his laptop.

Jessica peered over and interjected after scrolling through the link. "I had a homeless guy came into my office, claiming he was in some invisible realm or something for five years."

Matt looked at her for a second, "He was homeless?"

Jess shrugged then rolled her eyes briefly because she wasn't playing his blind ninja game today, "That or just horribly dressed."

"He has a name?"

She shook her head, "Didn't ask."

Matt's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, "You're an investigator. You didn't think a homeless man coming into your office... claiming he's been missing for five years isn't a little off?"

Jess reached over a took a bite of his snickers bar that he had left on the table half-eaten, "Am I stupid, Murdock? Of course, it's weird. Why else am I bringing it up?"

"What else did you find out?" he asked, "And what made think he was homeless?" he pressed again, not accepting her original abrasive attitude.

She fished for a picture on her phone, "I know you can't see this, but it's a photo of a van with satellite or something inside. He says he wasn't living in the van..."

"But?"

"It was impounded in San Francisco days after the incident. If somehow reappeared inside the van and not say a location of the last scene or like his house, I'd say he was at least spending time in it," she concluded.

"It's not registered to him," she added, "It belongs to Dr. Henry Pym."

He peered at her through his glasses, "His name means something to you?"

Jess made a face, "No, but--- I found out on the internet that he worked for Shield."

Well, that was a good reason as any to follow up on her lead.


	4. The trio perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now everyone is on the hunt, too bad their goal is next to impossible. At least, when the rug comes out from under them, they could say they tried.

It was surreal; if she looked just a bit further, Colleen was convinced she could see all of New York from this very window.

Sometimes, she waited to see if gravity would be betraying her and show her this was all some vivid nightmare.

Then, there were days like today.

"So we get called up all the way to the penthouse. Top Floor. VIP service. Windows so clean you could see out to the Hudson…" Misty began, "But where is tall, dark and arrogant? We have a lead to follow."

She was lounging lazily in the desk chair that belonged to Ward. Not entirely faking the admiration for the decor. She did have rather expensive taste in Colleen's opinion. She also was pretty sure they were sleeping together.

And that Misty was probably a lot more imitate with that visitor's couch on the right side of his office than Colleen would like to think on.

"Getting us lunch."

Misty made an amused noise and smirked a bit, "Our own personal delivery service, damn how we'd get so lucky?"

Colleen couldn't help but retort back, "I'm not sure, I had anything to do with it," giving her a pointed look.

If Misty was going to deny it, there was no evidence because the smirk got more prominent at that remark.

"Give it time, we may even have our own personal barista."

Colleen looked down at the mug in her hand, "I'll stick with homemade green tea, thanks."

This is why she didn't like having team meetings at Rand. Misty's deniability went out of the window. Her own arrogance usually became apparent. She started sinking into the couch that Colleen could make millions on betting how many times they probably used it.

Danny would have been pleased. Colleen would just like to tie them both up and lock them in a broom closet already. Have someone come to free them in a few days or weeks.

Before she could say what was on her mind, Ward came swishing through the door bags on food in hand.

"I don't get paid enough for this." He announced, placing the bags on the end table, "Don't ruin the carpets, they just got cleaned, again," he added with some extra force.

That may have had to do with the blood on the carpet from last night. The guy, Matt, might have roughhoused for them earlier and then dangled out Ward's office penthouse window.

Misty gave me a false sympathetic look, "Well, you could be getting paid right now…"

Ward shook his head, "Nope, not going there. I've suffered enough this week without reexamining my poor life choices." He started unpacking bags.

"What do we have here?" Misty asked, interested in the plastic containers.

"Dirty Water Dogs from the vendor by 52nd."

Colleen grabbed two, "You are a saint."

Ward smirked, "Now, I'm your good graces again."

Misty picked one up, "Ward Meachum, I didn't think you were capable of slumming it," she added. ( _Like the rest of us_ implied) with an appreciation for his chosen lunch special.

He sat down and took off his business coat, "I am from here." With a blank stare and quip at the ready.

"Last time you went to Luna Park?"

Ward scoffed, "Never."

That only proved her point. _Afraid of the 'hood,_ she thought to herself.

"And which poor life choices are we referring to exactly?" Misty challenged after polishing off her lunch.

If there was bait to that sentence, Ward chose to ignore it, "Anything involving Rand since Danny's return. Nevermind, Anything involving Rand period."

Colleen smiled, "The first step is admitting when you work in a horrible environment. The second is doing something about it."

"I am not working for the triads, I do not need a speech on changing my ways," he countered. "Besides, I really like my 401K, I match my own retirement."

Colleen rolled her eyes. "Do you even know what the purpose of a 401K is?"

"Pensions are too expensive, Rand is a business, not a charity. And for the record, Maserati. You have never been a poor life choice."

Misty, surprisingly almost looked happy at this off-handed comment. Colleen was nearly a little horrified to realize how serious this may have gotten since she last evaluated their situation.

"Now, did you come all this way for me to be your delivery boy… or did you have some work to do?"

Misty smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper stashed in her black jacket, "Jessica Jones called me yesterday about a strange lead she received. She can't make heads or tails of its importance but it was weird enough that she can't let it go either."

Colleen took the paper from her and saw it was a sketch of a van that looked as if it had seen better days. Satellite dish (or something like that) on the side and a bunch of equipment was sticking out the back doors. It looked like it was in dire need of a new coat of paint and some working parts—ugly brownish and logo on the side.

"Who's the artist?"

"The kid," Misty added, impressed, "Turns out genetics mean a lot sometimes."

Ward walked over and peered over Colleen's shoulder, "Does he need tuition money to Pratt?"

"Jess probably wouldn't say no, but he's not old enough yet."

"What kind of lead is this?"

Misty shrugged, "She doesn't know yet. My gut tells me whatever she's stumbled on is big. Really big."

"How so?" Ward asked, interested.

Colleen motioned to the picture, "People are broken, the system is broken because of the financial collapse. The van obviously needs some help. Still, the person comes to New York with a bunch of equipment from California? Obviously, important. You know where it's going?"

Misty sighed heavily, "I almost don't want to say."

They both looked at her.

"I called in a favor to some old colleagues. The van? Last spotted upstate."

"Okay…" Ward started, but Misty cut him off, "Where that new Avengers compound is located."

Colleen dropped the paper from her hands, "Well…"

"Shit," Ward finished for her.

"My thoughts exactly."

"I could throw some money at the Stark foundation and see if I can convince them to let me have a meeting with Pepper Potts," Ward offered.

"I thought she stopped taking business meetings a few years ago?" Colleen asked.

"She did, which means I would need to make a rather hefty donation."

Misty looked at him, skeptically, "You have that kind of capital on hand?"

Ward scoffed, "No. I would be digging into our emergency funds to even get the kind of attention level we needed. Rand has too much money tied up in other projects and supporting the homeless shelters across town."

Misty shook her head, "No, that's unfair. You do enough, Ward," she added, almost fully aware he was going to deny his efforts.

"You got a better plan, Maserati?" He challenged back, as much as he appreciated that Misty could flatter at times. They needed his money's help.

Colleen was reluctant to agree but knew he was right. This was not going to be their usual drive into town, kicking ass, and taking names kind of job. Jessica Jones dealt in sleuth work, not Iron Fist business.

"No," she admitted.

"We can't break and enter either," Colleen added, "We don't have the force necessary."

"So we're going to chance the Rand business just to investigate a lead about what exactly?" Misty asked, "I know it's big, but we don't even know what we're chasing yet."

"It was important enough for you to bring a sketch here and visit Jessica," Colleen countered.

Ward cut in, "Anyone asks my opinion yet? Because I'm fine with it. We got some capital, we can take a hit, and it's all going to charity anyway."

Colleen shook her head, "No. No. Danny— still has some money. I can take it out to fund this little detective game."

Ward argued back, "No, that money is for Danny…"

"For when, Ward? When he mysteriously comes back to life?" Colleen responded, frustrated, "He doesn't need it, and I certainly don't. I have a dojo."

"You get paid in peanuts by street kids who want to learn to defend themselves so they can not join gangs."

It was a shame that they were having this argument in front of Misty, but here it was, Colleen wasn't backing down now.

She stood up in a stance that suggested she was ready to physically fight even though it wasn't that kind of brawl, "They do the best they can, okay? Not everyone was born in an Ivory Tower…"

"Okay, that argument? Already stale," he snarled, now in his own defensive posture, "Tell me, do these payments take care of anything outside of groceries and the electric bill? Tell me when was the last time you made enough to cover the extensive stitches that Rand has paid for?"

A frustrated shriek entered the room; Misty was almost surprised unaware that Colleen was capable of such outward annoyance. Subtlety was not her strong suit, but the general frustration was something she typically kept in.

It was like watching siblings spar during the Holidays.

"I'd like to remind you that invited yourself to stay in mine, as you put it, "shitty roach-infested living space." You also started to help us, not the other way around. We don't need you, Ward Meachum," Colleen retorted angrily though she knew somewhere deep down that she was full of it.

"Yeah, okay. Fine. Good luck, then. Really. Mercedes, it's been a pleasure. Ladies, I have work to do apparently. Feel free to show yourselves out," Ward responded, the blank stare now back full force.

Misty was almost amazed at how fast Ward had gone from instigator to wounded animal. Colleen definitely knew how to go for the jugular; however, unfair it was, she sympathized with Ward. Love was complicated, and his for Danny was something he was not only blinded by but still actively grieving.

She held her hands up, "Hey, hold on a second. First off, we're guests— throwing us out is rude. Secondly, Colleen, I need a word outside. Just you and me." She then forcefully hooked her arm on Colleen's left and dragged her towards the door. "Do not lock us out, Ward. We'll be back."

Ward may have muttered under his breath.

—

"That was uncalled for."

Colleen sighed, "I know," she admitted, "It's just sometimes…"

"Look, I'm an only child too, I get it. You and I can't possibly understand, but Danny and Joy being gone? It's like the rug was pulled from under him. He needs to believe in something, and Danny came back from the dead once," she reminded her.

Colleen started pacing, "But it hurts me, okay? He's not the only one that wishes that Danny would come walking through that door. Sometimes, he acts like I'm okay and moved on. I haven't. I wish I had, and I wonder what's wrong with me for not being able to. I mean really Jessica Jones has, and she's the queen of holding on too tightly."

"To anger and resentment mostly."

Colleen laughed harshly, "The same thing often."

Misty was surprised, "You feel weak."

"Yes! How could I not?" she countered, "Mooning over some guy like in the movies? I mean, what is this exactly, 1950? Am I really just a punchline in some black and white fantasy movie as the token Asian girl waiting for the white man to come and save me?"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you there. Forget about Ward and Danny Rand right now. This is about you, now. You, Colleen Wing, are a superhero. You. Badass, smart, great instincts, and a killer negotiator. No one is perfect. We all have weaknesses. I see coffee, for example, and I can't seem to say no."

Colleen snorted, "Even to blonde roast?"

Misty sighed, "Especially to blonde roast. But you don't live your life like some movie heroine with one good line and a bunch of sad screenshots. Most days, it's like he's not even a thing. You loved someone deeply. I don't know that I can or ever will have that. Most people don't; they love people but only to a point. There's no shame in having something with someone that transcends life. It's flattering if anything to have that knowledge."

Colleen sat down gingerly on the office foyer on the plush carpet by the receptionist's desk. Notably, the receptionist was missing— trust Ward to kick her out when things got intense. Even in a fight, big brother to the rescue.

"The only people doing the saving around here is you and me," Misty added, "I need you to get your shit together, okay? You have to save Ward from himself, not cause him further retreat."

Colleen starred at her, "You want that job?"

Misty snorted, "We have coffee dates together. We don't have that kind of next level. He's the damsel in distress here".

"Yeah, okay." Colleen moved to stand again, "He is a great housewife sometimes. Cooks. Cleans and even sends help away when I need a timeout."

Misty laughed, "Yeah, I noticed her fleeing the minute we walked outside."

"So we're going to let him pay for this little adventure?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes, we are. If only to protect Ward's rose-covered glasses," Misty replied, "Besides, Rand could afford the loss. You can't. I hate to agree with the man, but seriously you get paid shit."

"Being the Iron Fist doesn't exactly come with a pension or a 401k."

"Would it hurt to invite some kids with some parents making bank?"

"Says the woman living off her pension."

Misty smirked, "At least I have a pension and an Ltd; trust me, those are valuable."


	5. In which Jessica meets her twin and polar opposite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica Jones, superhero? Maybe. More like Jessica Jones, science project. Tony Stark had some delusions of grandeur on her behalf.

“Admiring the view? Or just bored?” a voice from behind her said.

  
Jessica would have jumped, but she felt she was being watched earlier by someone. She hated she was right. She had to admit, though, she rarely got out of the city, and the view from upstate was something to enjoy.

  
Even if it wasn’t meant to be a long trip or even a productive one.

  
“It was technically my case,” she pointed out unnecessarily, “But when people start talking science…”

  
Tony snorted, “You were created by science, right?”

  
Jessica turned sharply at that and stared at him, “Excuse me?”

  
He looked at her, mirroring her indigent sneer, “I read the news. Or was it someone else who put a hole in a guy’s chest cavity?”

  
“Great, another critic.”

  
Tony held up his hands, “I didn’t say that. If I had the guts to— turn someone’s insides into mush, I would if only to protect my family. Maybe even the world.”

  
Jessica rolled her eyes, “I can’t say I was that virtuous.”

  
Tony laughed to himself and sat down, pulling up a lawn chair, “No refute on the science?”

  
He patted the chair across from him as if willing her to sit down and indulge his curiosity. This was his building, and she was just a guest in a location no one technically told her she could go.  
Realizing the others weren’t going to magically reappear to bail her out, she moved to sit down across from him.

  
“I could lie,” she taunted, “Besides, they are talking science. Wouldn’t their conversation be more interesting?”

  
He shrugged, “You could, but you won’t. I’m sick of talking technicalities. The others want to go back in time and fix a problem that I’m not sure I want to fix.”

  
Jessica’s eyebrow rose slightly at that, “Isn’t that what heroes do?”

  
Tony scoffed, “I never said I was a hero.”

  
“That would be the news,” she countered.

  
“That’s fair,” Tony started, “But these days, I’m pretty sure the news says Avengers fail to save the universe. Tony Stark, resident asshole, retreats with his tail tucked under his legs to live a happy existence with his wife and daughter.”

  
Jessica was mildly impressed; Tony Stark does apparently read the news.

  
“Typically, the asshole part is implied.”

  
“Glad to be an asshole, I’ll admit,” Tony added, “So you tell me yours now.” As if it was a fair tradeoff that he admitted he didn’t care about his critics.  
Jessica starred for a second, “Kilgrave, kidnapped…”

  
“Not that,” Tony interjected, “You were a hero. Not me. Was it science?”

  
“Of course, it was science. Isn’t it always science?” Jessica countered, annoyed not a subject she liked to talk about, let alone give up information.

  
Tony shrugged, “I used to think so, but I’ve been told otherwise.”

  
Jessica gave him a skeptical look, “I’m not a billionaire genius or anything, but I’m pretty sure you were right the first time.”

  
He thought about bursting her bubble; after all, his theory had been magic was just science in another form, but now there were substantial claims against that logic.  
“So is your only power to leave giant holes in people’s bodies?” deciding to indulge his curiosity again.

  
“Yes.”

  
Tony scoffed, “Liar.”

  
Jessica eyed him and sighed, “I can also maybe possibly fly.”

  
Tony’s eyebrows rose, “Like a bird or more like Natasha after she jumps on Cap’s shield.”

  
“Not sure, it’s as fluid as a bird,” she stated, “But definitely not falling with style.”

  
Tony appreciated that pop culture reference.

  
“I hate science,” she added after a second, “No one asked me before turning me into a lab rat.”

  
He was minority sympathetic, but Tony did experiment on himself…

  
“I made myself fly,” he added unnecessarily, “Narcissistic personality and all…”

  
Jessica was the one who scoffed this time, “Liar.”

  
In a rare moment, Tony confessed, “I wasn’t ever going to be weak again. Kidnapped? Beaten? Left for dead. No, that wasn’t going to be me.”

  
“I suppose I should be grateful, then?” she asked a little roughly, “That even with superpowers, I got to be psychologically tortured, raped and left holding the bag?”

  
“You still have the power to stop it from ever happening again,” he pointed out, “I don’t.”

  
“No, you do. You just don’t want to,” Jessica needled; his suit hadn’t gone anywhere. His power hadn’t left the reservation because the survivors were anti-Avengers right now. His money sure as fuck hadn’t disappeared.

  
In fact, unlike most people, he was thriving. Wife, kid— cabin in the woods. Yeah, Tony Stark was still living the high life. But Jessica couldn’t judge, so had hers, somewhat.

  
“Fuck, let me get us some whiskey,” he said after a minute of tense silence, moving to stand.

  
“I quit,” she replied demurely.

  
Tony sighed exasperated, “ _Fine_ ,” sitting back down. “At least, tell me, is it any better?”

  
Jessica looked at him, surprised, “My life?”

  
“Yes, or am I seriously the only person on this planet not suffering beyond measure?” he demanded.

  
“Aren’t you? Or do you mean to tell me that you lost no one when the world ended?” she pressed.

  
Tony’s mind went directly to Peter, but he shut down almost as fast it came to him, “Of course. Didn’t you?”

  
“My sister,” Jessica answered, “My associate, sometime friend.”

  
“Fuck buddy?”

  
“We’re not exactly teenagers anymore,” she replied, “But sure.”

  
“You wish you felt worse,” he said after a minute.

  
Jessica sighed; who knew Tony Stark was a mind reader? More specifically, on her wavelength. “I wish I missed her more.”

  
“Why don’t you?”

  
“That’s complicated,” she stated.

  
“The short version?” he wondered out loud, unable to keep dreaming up small scenarios like he had been there or knew her like that.

  
“She killed my mother, who wasn’t her mother,” Jessica felt the need to point out, “Unfortunately, her demonic mother is still among the living.”

  
“Ouch,” Tony said, cringing at the words. “So you are happy?”

  
“You could tell?” she wondered.

  
Tony nodded, “There’s a certain peace that comes from acceptance. You’re bathed in it. Still, you hate that you’re happy.”

  
“No,” she replied slightly defensively, “I hate that I’m happy now for the first time— in maybe ever. And that it took billions of lives to make me feel this way.”

  
Tony sat there for a minute, taking in the sun starting to go down, the pink rising in the sky. “Then, why come? If not to be studied or help save the planet? This isn’t going to improve your life.”

  
“Isn’t that obvious?” she demanded, knowing he already had his answer, “It’s why you came back.”

  
“One point for Joan Jett.” He spoke after another minute, “Science is not the enemy.”

  
“We’re never going to agree about that,” she responded with perfect clarity, “You wanted superpowers and your scientific solutions. I just want to make a living and be left alone.”

  
“Pragmatism never hurt anyone,” he conceded, “I have a savior complex.”

  
“Don’t tell the tabloids.”

“You do too,” Tony felt the need to inform her.

  
Jessica’s hand balled into fists and then unclenched, “I’ll take that drink now.”

  
Tony laughed and got up from the chair he was lounging in, “ _Denied_.” But he did offer his hand.

  
Jessica didn’t need it but took it anyway. She started towards the patio door to go back with the others.

  
Then, for a moment, thought better of it, “Hey Stark?”

  
He raised his eyebrow in acknowledgment.

  
“Your theory? There’s a place not too far from here in Westchester. Talk to a dude named Professor Xavier. I think he might have some insight for you,” she informed him.  
Tony looked at her, questioningly, “On what?”

  
“Why some of us get powers from science and others don’t— like yourself.”

  
—

  
She walked back towards the lab, where Misty, Colleen, and Matt were chatting away with the remaining crew. Scott, the person they followed here, was playing with some kind of device and half talking to Ward, who looked thoroughly out of place.

  
“Still at it? Or is it just the after-party?”

  
“We were waiting for you,” Matt stated implied was the ‘so we can leave’ part. She must have been outside a lot longer than she imagined.

  
“I’d offer to guide you to the door, but you seem to be doing just fine,” Steve said as they moved to leave, looking directly at Matt.

  
Matt smiled, “Not sure what you’re implying.”

  
Steve laughed, “I like the future; we have these fancy new gadgets now. Like household televisions. I noticed The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen isn’t too big on seeing.”

  
The whole group stopped abruptly, _“_ I’m sorry?” Jessica replied defensively on Matt’s part as her voice rose a bit which didn't give her away or anything.

  
“The holes are a nice touch, but maybe, don’t be so stealthy in the dark. People tend to find that a little suspicious,” Steve offered.

  
Matt cringed but kept tapping his cane for effect, “I’ll be sure to pass that on should I ever meet the guy.”

  
Now it was Colonel Rhodes who was laughing, “Oh yeah, you guys are welcome back anytime.”

  
Steve added, “Hell, if you want to help save the world…” as if he knew who they all were. Fuck, what had Colleen and Misty told these guys?

  
“Pass,” Jessica interjected, speaking for the team, “But uh, good luck and all that.”

  
Tony called from the side room, “I’ll be seeing you again, Jessica Jones.”

  
_Damn_ Scott Lang for even dreaming of passing her apartment.

  
As if now a prophet. Jessica really wanted that drink. 


	6. A less biased perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew seeks guidance and to stop playing emotional games

“You’re _terrible_ with secrets,” Jessica said after dinner. Moving aside her plate of half-eaten beef and broccoli sans rice. Vido was thankfully at a sleepover with friends leaving room for their nightly activities in peace.

“I think Captain America is psychic.” He declared as if this was some press release and not a blatant lie.

“Captain America isn’t psychic, Murdock. You suck.”

Matt shrugged; he tried. (Not really).

“It’s probably a blessing that I don’t have many friends or family,” he conceded.

Jessica took a swig of the terrible craft beer in his apartment and cringed. Maybe this is why she gave up drinking (gave up— past tense as in already _did)_.

“Someone has to be psychic, though, right? We all can’t just have super hearing and super strength…” He considered out loud as if the thought never occurred to anyone before.

“Isn’t that Xavier guy?” she asked, “Psychic? Or something like that?”

“Xavier?”

Jessica coughed; conversation did not have with Matt in the room. A search for answers she had years ago with Trish that she had kept to herself. Mutations. Things some people and others didn’t. 

Unlike Matt’s secrets, which got figured out relatively fast, Jessica could actually keep a secret.

“Not an Avenger,” she added as if it that necessary, “Some kind of high school principal or something.”

“High school principals have superpowers?” Matt asked dubiously.

Jessica dug her nails into his couch as if to test out its sturdiness for the next round of activities she had planned out.

“If a blind lawyer can be a ninja, why can’t a high school principal be psychic?” she countered.

Matt laughed, “I’m a ninja, now?” Danny would be amused that his instance of Matt’s status as a ninja was now accepted as universal gospel.

She moved to sit on his lap, making sure her pants were easy to access, “You wanna show off some of your skills, counselor?” she tested, moving to unbutton his shirt. Matt pushed aside his beer and threw down his rose-colored glasses. Questions forgotten.

Later, lying naked on his couch, Matt’s hand weaved through her hand she heard him speak.

“You never ask, you imply, but you never ask.”

“What?” Jessica started exasperated, “What don’t ever ask?”

“About whether it’s Foggy or Karen or both.”

Jessica huffed and moved to sit up a little bit so she could look at his face, “You ever gonna tell me?”

“If you really wanted me to,” he offered as if he knew something she didn’t.

In a way, he was right. She didn’t want to know. Because if she knew, it meant it was real. She was emotionally cheating on Luke already but knowing who Matt was physically cheating on with her? Made it so much worse.

Theoretically speaking, he was single and emotionally unavailable right now. Jessica was emotionally invested in a dead man who meant all physical acts were expected with Someone living. There was no judgment to be had when there was no living boyfriend or girlfriend present.

In Matt’s case, though, whoever that Someone was may as well be living because he was wired that way. Loyal. She was a body to him, a vessel that kept him alive long enough to fight another battle.

She just needed to feel something again besides hate and regret. Somewhere along the lines, it accidentally turned into love. Which was not exactly where it was supposed to end up.

“They— the Avengers wanted to fix this, right?” she asked; that seemed the sum of the conversation she had gotten in the van from Misty and Colleen.

“Yeah.”

Jessica nodded to herself, “So, let’s say they do. Fix this. What does that look like for, say Nelson and Stahl?”

Matt made a noise that sounded downright pathetic, like he was ashamed to even have to answer her question.

“They’re still married,” Matt pointed out.

“Does Marci know that?” Jessica countered; she had seen that woman at the police station not so long ago. She did not look like a grieving widow. If anything, she looked well adjusted and like she was having the best sex of her life.

“It’s complicated,” he responded after a minute, “But that’s what five years does to someone.”

“You don’t strike me as the cheating type,” she said cautiously after a minute as if afraid to even push this line of thinking.

“I would never condone cheating of any kind,” Matt replied quickly. Only adding to the questions now entering Jessica’s mind.

Jessica dared to ask, “Isn’t that what we’re doing, Murdock?”

Matt laughed harshly as if he knew something that this time, Jessica didn’t.

“If we were, don’t you think this would have stopped by now?”

—

“Matthew, what do I owe this visit?” Sister Maggie said with a smile on her face. Her son wobbling inside to put on a show for any pew dwellers there may be lurking behind.

He motioned to a pew and moved to sit down, “Advice.”

Maggie sat down next to him, putting her hand on top of his free hand, “About?” she asked suspiciously as if afraid this was some kind of theoretical test about Daredevil’s ethics out in the open.

“How to tell someone you’re a relationship and it’s not entirely one-sided.”

Maggie snorted, “With God, Matthew?”

“Or maybe just Jessica Jones,” he replied.

She sighed; a little bit of relief seemed to be detected underneath, “She still hasn’t caught on?” And she thought Matthew was stubborn. This had only been going on now for what? Three years.

Matt fiddled with his cane if he was in trouble for her lack of emotional understanding.

“No, but she came close last night to asking probably the closest thing to confirmation as she could handle.”

“How so?” Maggie asked.

“She asked about Foggy and Karen,” he started then paused, “And whether or not what we did constitute as cheating.”

Maggie scoffed, “You better have not made that girl feel worse than she does already.”

Matt held up his hands (and cane) in surrender, “I absolutely did not,” he insisted, “I think sometimes she still feels guilty about Luke Cage.”

“She loves him?”

Matt shook his head, “Not sure if it’s that or something else.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Maggie stated as if the whole thing now made sense.

Matt confirmed with a loud sigh, “That’s why I’m here.”

Maggie understood; this was Matt’s first real, possibly ever experience with being a couple. And it didn’t help that his girlfriend seemly kept missing the memo on this fact. Of course, these were not problems that Maggie had, but as his mother— she knew exactly what this was doing to his psyche.

“ I can’t pretend to know Jessica that well, especially since she avoids this place like the plague,” Maggie added; Matthew had a talent for finding people definitely not religious to spend his days with. “But as a woman who felt emotionally conflicted between God and a man before…” she started not wanting to bring up his adverse history.

Still, he motioned her to continue regardless.

“Jessica seems to have already been through that struggle. She’s on the other side. The struggle is gone. I saw it leave her,” Maggie said, remembering the two times in the last few years she had seen her.

The before and after was radically different Jessica Jones.

“So it’s just a matter of finding out where her heart landed?” Matt challenged, already knowing the response.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Jessica’s feelings are the issue here,” Maggie added.

“Then what?”

“It’s your feelings, Matthew. That’s what she’s struggling with.”

“For her?”

“No, for them.”

Well, that surprisingly made a lot of sense. Why she dodged the answer or even asking the question. Why Jessica seemed eager to avoid it like a landmine. Because as well as adjusted as she had become at the root of it was still the angst of one’s own history.

Matt took a deep breath, “Thanks for providing guidance. I knew you were the right person to ask. I’m glad you told God where he stood in your own matter.”

Maggie scowled, “Matthew!”

He smirked, surprised that he could bring himself to make that joke after all of that.

“I met Captain America the other day,” he said, changing the subject.

Maggie dropped the frown, “And how was that?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s psychic.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, unsure if he could sense that or not, “Captain America is not psychic. Stop being so obvious, Matthew.”

Did he go out wearing a sign that said Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen?

“This is why I never made friends living here.”

Maggie snorted, “That’s not why. Still, delusions never hurt anyone.”

Matt cringed, leave to his mother. A moment of silence was needed here. Guidance for the loss of loved ones, perhaps. Or advice about where this going in Matt’s brain. To tell or not to say that is the unanswered question.

“He wants to bring everyone back,” he said after a moment.

“How?” she asked bewildered as if that went against nature itself, “You can’t bring back the dead.”

“Time travel…?”

Maggie scoffed, “Are there vampires that are repelled by the church?”

Matt paused slight smirk entering his face, “I never asked that question.” Her shrewdness was sometimes incredible.

Maggie scowled, “Right up there with time travel. The whole thing sounds grossly unnatural to me.” She moved to grab his hand as if holding on might talk him of whatever bad idea was brewing inside.

Matt looked in her general direction, “They were killed unnaturally, so why can’t the solution be just as unnatural?”

She sighed, “Life still went on, Matthew, regardless. People died that day who weren’t victims of whatever cosmic nightmare happened. People still die today. The world didn’t stop spinning, and who is anyone to do that?”

“Because look got left behind,” he started viciously but quietly, “Look. I lost— I lost Foggy. And Karen. Frank lost Karen and probably whatever sanity he had left. Marci lost whatever tied her to us. And so many others lost their friends, family, and even neighbors. Who wouldn’t want a chance to fix that?”

“Do you?” she challenged, “Do you really want to fix that? That’s a lot of exposure for the Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen. The big leagues. And Matthew it goes unsaid, but the big leagues bring big trouble.”

And that was, at the root of it, why he always came back to his mother. She challenged his worldview better than anyone else who had ever been active in his life. Because chances are it was a mirror image inside as well as out.

He wanted to do this; he was afraid. Maggie was scared of if he did this.

“Don’t we owe to whoever’s left to try? What if they’re right. What if they can fix whatever happened.”

Maggie felt a tear drip from her eye; she knew her son was about to do something crazy, which scared her. On the other hand, she couldn’t have admired him more.

“You’re going to help them?”

Matthew nodded, “I’m going to help them.”

Maggie sighed and moved her hands into prayer position; this was going to require a miracle.

“Don’t forget to bring Jessica Jones.”


End file.
